CHAPTER 33 — The Auction
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The Auction Hall sealed itself shut with a muted resonance.
Not a sound meant to intimidate—
but one that informed.
Hundreds of cultivators filled the hall, yet the space did not feel crowded. It felt… regulated.
Voices did not echo. Footsteps did not linger. Even breathing seemed to vanish once released, as if the space itself decided what was allowed to remain.
Ren stepped inside and immediately understood one thing.
This was not a place where strength asserted itself.
This was a place where strength submitted.
Ren adjusted without conscious thought—breathing slower, posture looser, presence folded inward.
Not from fear.
From understanding.
The hall descended in wide concentric tiers toward a circular platform of frost-white stone. Runes layered every surface—not loud, not radiant, but so deeply engraved that they felt permanent.
The White Severance soldiers stood along the inner ring.
They did not face the crowd. They did not move.
They didn't need to.
And the crowd unconsciously avoided leaning too close.
Ren took his seat with Kael's group midway up the arc. High enough to see everything. Low enough to remain unremarkable. The fox settled near Ren's feet, unmoving, ears alert.
Around them sat cultivators of every kind—sect disciples, independent experts, mercenary leaders, old men whose stillness spoke of long survival.
A soft chime echoed.
Footsteps followed.
Measured. Light. Precise.
A young woman stepped onto the platform.
She was beautiful—but that was secondary.
What held the hall was her control.
Frost-blue robes fell cleanly along her figure, silver threads catching light without demanding it. Her posture was straight, relaxed, balanced. When she smiled, it was neither warm nor distant.
It invited participation.
"Welcome," she said, voice smooth and effortlessly clear. "To the Frostmere Grand Auction."
Her gaze passed over the hall—not searching, not judging—calculating.
"I am Lirien."
A subtle shift rippled through the audience.
"Verification formations are active. All bids are binding. Authority," her smile curved slightly, "is absolute."
She raised one hand.
"Let us begin."
Item One
A spirit tool descended on a formation lift—an ice-aligned blade of exceptional refinement.
"Starting bid," Lirien announced calmly, "120 mid-grade spirit stones."
A pause.
Then a seal flared.
"130 mid-grade."
Another followed.
"150."
The price climbed steadily—no rush, no hesitation.
"180." "200."
Lirien let silence breathe for two heartbeats.
"Any higher?"
A young cultivator clenched his jaw.
"220 mid-grade!"
A faint smile crossed her lips.
"Sold."
The pace was set.
Mid-Auction Flow
Pills followed.
Rare materials.
Formation fragments.
Each item rose higher than the last.
A pill batch started at 300 mid-grade, stalled at 420, then jumped to 500 when Lirien tilted her head slightly and said, "Surely that is not the limit of your confidence?"
Lirien did not acknowledge the bid immediately.
Her gaze lingered instead—just long enough for doubt to bloom in the other contenders.
Someone cracked.
By the time the hall reached its stride, numbers no longer startled.
They pressed.
Ice-Affinity Beast Armors
The temperature shifted—not physically, but emotionally.
Four displays rose simultaneously.
"These armors," Lirien said smoothly, "were refined from three peak-stage level two ice beasts… and one initial-stage level three."
The hall tightened.
"Starting bid," she continued, "1,800 mid-grade spirit stones."
Immediately—
"2,000!" "2,300!"
Two factions clashed openly.
"2,600." "2,900." "3,200!"
Lirien's smile sharpened just slightly. "A spirited exchange."
A third faction entered.
"3,800 mid-grade."
The hall murmured.
One side hesitated.
Kael remained silent.
"4,200."
Another pause.
Kael lifted his seal.
"4,800 mid-grade spirit stones."
Clean. Final.
The pressure broke.
Lirien waited.
No one followed.
"Sold."
Kael exhaled slowly.
Their primary objective was complete.
The Mysterious Item
Then—
Lirien stopped.
Not dramatically. Precisely.
Attendants wheeled forward a container of dark crystal, layered with runes so dense they appeared fused rather than engraved.
No aura leaked. No fluctuation stirred.
"Our next item," Lirien said gently, "is… unclassified."
The hall leaned in.
"Material unknown. Function undetermined. Stability verified."
A long pause to let the weight of those words settle.
She stepped back half a pace.
"Starting bid: 2,000 mid-grade spirit stones."
The number landed like frost.
Not unreachable—
but deliberately high.
High enough that no minor sect could test the waters. High enough that only Anchors, Arbiters, and representatives of wealthy powers were even qualified to consider it.
And yet—
No one moved.
Silence spread through the tiers, not empty but thinking.
If the item were truly precious, the Auction Hall's manager—an Arbiter—would have claimed it.
If it were dangerous or irreplaceable, the Tribunal Master himself would have sealed it away.
If the Sovereign had shown no interest in keeping it—
Then why should they?
These were not reckless cultivators. They were people whose survival depended on understanding what was not said.
There was another reason too—one none of them needed to voice.
They had come for the rumored item.
That was where the real battle would be.
Where bids would soar high enough to fracture reserves and expose weakness.
Spending thousands of mid-grade stones on an unknown object now—one that even the Tribunal had not elevated—was not caution.
It was waste.
Ren felt his chest tighten.
The hall's silence pressed inward.
Then—
Something stirred.
Not thought.
Not logic.
A pull—deep, insistent, unmistakable.
It did not accelerate his heart.
It steadied it.
Buy it.
The sensation carried weight older than instinct.
Sharper than curiosity.
Aetherion.
Ren's fingers curled slowly against his knee.
The price remained unmoved at 2,000 mid-grade.
If a higher-up decided to test it, Ren would lose instantly. He did not possess even a fraction of that sum.
"Any interested party?" Lirien asked softly.
Her smile remained perfectly composed.
Ren turned slightly. "Kael."
Kael met his gaze.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then, quietly, "Are you sure?"
Ren did not explain.
Did not justify.
He nodded once.
Kael exhaled.
His primary objective had already been secured. The ice-affinity beast armors were theirs. As for the rumored item—he already knew he could not contend with Arbiters or sovereign-backed factions when the real bidding began.
Kael's mind worked with the cold efficiency of a ledger. Two thousand stones was a steep price for a gamble, but Ren was an anomaly that had already defied every projection. If the boy's intuition was as precise as his movements, the return on this investment wouldn't be measured in currency, but in a variable Kael couldn't yet name. He wasn't buying a crystal; he was buying the next stage of Ren's loyalty.
This—
This would not break him.
After one final heartbeat of calculation, Kael raised his seal.
"2,200 mid-grade spirit stones."
The hall stirred.
Not excitement—
interest.
A representative from a wealthy faction hesitated… then followed.
"2,400."
Another joined, cautiously.
"2,600."
Lirien's smile deepened, subtle and satisfied.
Kael did not rush.
"2,900."
The pressure returned—but thinner now.
One bidder withdrew.
Another lingered, weighed the cost, and shook his head.
"3,100."
Kael responded without hesitation.
"3,500 mid-grade."
Silence crept back in.
No Sovereign interest.
No Arbiter challenge.
Only those who now realized they had ventured too far without conviction.
Lirien waited.
No seal flared.
"Sold."
The crystal container vanished into secured transfer.
Ren leaned back slowly.
Not relieved.
Not triumphant.
Certain.
Something unseen had just crossed into his path.
And it had chosen him first.
The auction did not slow after that.
If anything, it grew sharper.
Item after item passed beneath Lirien's poised control—refined weapon cores, rare frost-aligned pills, formation anchors extracted from ancient ruins. Prices climbed, stalled, then leapt again, each exchange tightening the air by degrees. Cheers never rose. Disappointment never spilled. Wins were acknowledged with nods, losses with silence.
By the ninth item, even seasoned cultivators sat straighter.
The hall had thinned—not in numbers, but in patience.
Then Lirien lifted her gaze.
The pulling smile faded—not entirely, but enough.
"Our tenth item," she said, and her voice carried without effort, "requires no embellishment."
The formations along the hall's walls shifted.
Light bent inward.
A sealed platform rose slowly from beneath the floor, wrapped in layered frost-sigils that did not glow—but waited. The pressure in the hall changed, subtle yet absolute, as if something unseen had finally turned its attention outward.
No name was spoken.
None was needed.
Breaths slowed.
Even Arbiter-level presences grew still.
Lirien rested her hand lightly on the platform's edge.
"This," she said, "is why Frostmere gathered."
No one reached for their seals.
Not because they were told not to—
but because something in the hall insisted they wait.
And the world held its breath.
_
Chapter End.